


A Beach to Walk on

by mightymads



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M, Mystery, Stranded, Survival, TOS dudes appear too to the rescue of AOS ones, and for the Primes, and then they kick some ass all together, for the planet Vulcan, gratuitous use of tropes, sorta but mostly porn, there’s also some plot further on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightymads/pseuds/mightymads
Summary: Jim and Spock wake up on a beach in some paradise world. They don't remember how they got here or what happened during the past few days. Thankfully, they do remember their crew, their ship, and that they're married.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeirdLittleStories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdLittleStories/gifts).



> This story is slightly canon divergent: Jim and Spock bonded after _Into Darkness_. The events of _Beyond_ were basically the same, but with minor differences arising from that.

Light is warm on his face, its yellow glow persistent against his closed eyelids. He’s in Spock’s arms, their legs entwined, Spock’s breath deep and even near his cheek. A gentle sea breeze is caressing them, and a slow rustle of leaves above is lulling. Jim would rather stay like this, unwilling to let go of his slumber yet, but the light is too bright. He opens his eyes. Spock’s expression is soft and relaxed, his hair disheveled, stubble framing his jaw. For four years they’ve been together every morning is good, if neither of them is away or in sickbay. Usually it’s Spock who wakes Jim up, but now their bond is muffled—Spock is so deeply asleep he’s snoring quietly. Jim can’t help smiling. When they just bonded, Spock was always focused, seemingly even in his sleep. Then, little by little, he started to allow himself some slack in private, without considering it a weakness. Man, this year has been tough, especially the past seven months. Shore leave was a good idea. Wait, what shore leave? None is scheduled any time soon: last week the _Enterprise-A_ has been commissioned, and they set off from Yorktown into deep space again.

Jim rises on his elbows. The sun similar to Sol is high in the violet sky, so it must be about noon. They’re lying under a palm tree, Spock still in its shadow. Both are stark naked. Waves of crystal clear turquoise sea are splashing against white sand of the beach that stretches towards the horizon. Neither he nor Spock is injured, and yet, no matter how hard Jim racks his brain, nothing. What is this place? Where’s the ship and the crew? What the hell has happened?

“Jim.” Spock stirs and blinks, wakened by Jim’s distress. “Is something amiss?”

“Spock, do you remember how we got here?” Jim asks, curbing his panic.

They sit up and look around. Spock furrows his brow—the bond communicates the same confusion from his side.

“No hangover can be _this_ epic, right?” Jim mutters.

“Alcohol does not produce such a debilitating effect on me,” Spock says, still frowning.

“Well, maybe you got trashed on cocoa.” Jim shrugs.

“For what purpose, pray tell?” Spock raises an affronted eyebrow.

“Yeah, why would we both get trashed, for that matter.” Jim rubs his forehead and exhales. “Okay, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were in our quarters and went to bed.”

“At least we’re on the same page. What else?”

“We left Yorktown 7.3 days ago,” Spock says with some hesitation. “Yesterday the _Enterprise_ had a rendezvous with _USS Bradbury_ and handed over medical supplies for Beta VI colony.”

“Then we proceeded according to the plotted course, exploring uncharted space.” Jim nods. “So... let’s search for any cues then, like shuttle debris or anything?”

“Agreed.”

They get up, shaking off the sand. Its grains are all over Spock’s lean, toned body, sticking to his chiseled arms and chest, dusting his taut stomach… The bond flares with reciprocating desire as Spock watches Jim in turn, but they need to find out something about this place first, so Jim forces himself to focus on the task. The sand is pristine, no footsteps or tracks mar its surface as far as the eye can see. Tropical trees are lush green, covering rocky hills as an enormous blanket.

“No signs of crash landing in the vicinity,” Spock says. “I have dropped my shields, but sense no one.”

“Then we don’t have to bother about clothes,” Jim smirks, scratching his jaw.

Spock raises an eyebrow and doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

“We’ve already grown two days worth of stubble,” Jim continues. “Beard suppressant wears off within five-six days...”

“Which means that the rendezvous with the Bradbury was at least a week ago, not yesterday.” Spock rubs his own cheek.

“Damn.” Jim lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why don’t we remember anything? Neither of us has a concussion or whatever. If we crash landed, why are we naked?”

“I shall meditate on the absence of our memories later, when we find food and shelter,” Spock says, as calm and dignified as he usually is, even wearing only his birthday suit.

A heavy feeling sets in the pit of Jim’s stomach at the mention of food. The surrounding flora may be unsuitable for consuming, and there seem to be no birds or animals as they go further into the forest. Spock wouldn’t welcome eating flesh anyway. Insects with glistening wings are buzzing between the branches. Jim grimaces—not the best option, but still a possibility. Bugs and worms once helped him to survive.

“If natives held us hostage, seeking them out wouldn’t be wise,” he muses to distract himself from grim thoughts.

“We have no other choice, however,” Spock counters, and he’s right, of course. Wandering like this indefinitely is not a solution. No supplies, no means to contact the ship, no idea what’s going on. _They’re not dead, are they? Did I screw up the new ship as well?_

“Jim, you did _not_ ‘screw up’.” Spock reaches out for Jim’s hand, his dark eyes intense. “There was nothing you or anyone could do to escape the swarm attack. And there’s no point in speculating about the fate of the crew presently, since data at our disposal is insufficient.”

Care and support envelop Jim, shielding him from anxiety. Although Jim got used to the bond over the years, his breath still catches at how awesome it is. _K’diwa_ , he sends back gently and squares his shoulders.

“Alright. Let's check out that brook, whether we can drink from it.”

A few feet away a brook is chattering between stones and roots of the trees. The clear liquid appears like water, but anything is possible on alien worlds. They’ve visited planets where life was based on acid and rocks were explosive. Spock breaks a twig from the nearest bush and dips it in the brook. Nothing happens. They kneel on the bank, and Jim tries the liquid with his pinky finger. Nothing again—thankfully, it’s not an acid.

“Allow me to sample it,” Spock says.

“What if it’s poisonous?” Jim furrows his brow.

“My Vulcan physiology is more resilient.” Spock scoops some liquid and drinks it. “No smell and no taste.”

“You’re _not_ going to be a guinea pig,” Jim says indignantly. “Your hybrid physiology is in many ways more delicate than either Human or Vulcan.”

He drinks from the brook too. Water tasted this good at health resorts on pleasure planets. The source of this brook must be a spring. Shrubs by the brook are full of round purple fruit the size of a peach. Spock picks one and breaks it. A sweet, appetizing aroma spreads around; Jim reaches for a half of the fruit, but Spock shakes his head and tries a little of the pulp first.

“Stubborn.” Jim huffs and picks another fruit.

“Jim.” Spock glares at him. “It is illogical to risk the health of both.”

“And what makes you expendable?” Jim glares back.

“As your First Officer and your spouse I am to ensure your safety,” Spock retorts.

Jim lets out an exasperated sigh. Ever since the Khan ordeal Spock has been overprotective. And if, god forbid, Jim still managed to get himself into something, Spock would become downright insufferable. Jim’s free fall and being almost jettisoned from Yorktown’s airlock surely didn’t improve the matters. But on the same damn mission Spock was bleeding, bleeding from his side, so close to where his heart is...

“Stay out of trouble, Mister Spock. That’s an order,” Jim says in his best commanding tone.

“Very well, Captain.” Spock puts the fruit on the ground.

Professionalism is important, of course. Then again, sticking to ranks stark naked is kinda ridiculous—or kinky, it depends. Sometimes they called each other by titles while fucking, and it was so damn hot. Ugh, no, not now!

Spock gives Jim a knowing look, clamping down his own urges. Jim licks his lips. Spock clears his throat.

“We really need a tricoder.” Jim turns the purple fruit in his hand and puts it down. “If only we found the crashing site.”

“The brook comes down from the peak.” Spock gestures upstream. “It should be a good vantage point.”

They set off along the brook, stepping carefully among the grass. It’s been so long since Jim walked barefoot; twigs and withered leaves prickle his soles, but it’s nice. Soft light diffused by lush foliage, buzzing of insects in the rustling branches, warm humid air—all this gives him a sense of deja vu. He roamed in the forest of Altamid, having lost his ship, not knowing the whereabouts of his crew. Only there he was separated from Spock, and Chekov kept him company. Please, Pav, and everyone, be safe.

The peak they are climbing is a small mountain or a high hill, so it doesn’t take much effort: Jim is used to hiking, and on Spock’s world it would have been considered nothing at all. As the panorama opens more and more, hopes to spot shuttle debris are dwindling: the natural landscape bears no evidence of impact. It turns out that the forest is a narrow strip of land encircling another body of water, forming a lagoon. Turquoise water is shimmering like a gem, framed by the emerald forest and white sand.

“This place seems to be an atoll,” Spock observes.

“No civilization,” Jim says, peering into the distance. “If we didn’t crash, then we were beamed here, but it’s hardly a penal facility.”

“Perhaps we escaped.” Spock gives a little shrug.

The brook now runs in the crevice that leads to a cave big enough that they can go in. It’s not entirely dark inside: apparently, there’s another exit further on. The spring created a shallow bath-sized basin in the cave floor, and from there the water trickles into the crevice.

“Shall we stay here for the night, Jim?” Spock asks.

“It will make a good shelter,” Jim agrees, crossing the cave towards the inner source of light.

The cave expands into a larger one, dry and airy. There is a round opening in the ceiling, a golden pillar of sunlight streaming through it.

“Honey,” Jim calls. “It’s a deluxe suite!”

Spock joins him and lets out a small gasp.

“Fascinating. On Vulcan-that-was, as a boy, I had a secret place in L-langon mountains.” He sends Jim a mental image.

“Wow, it’s really similar, kind of a natural observatory,” Jim drawls, comparing Spock’s memory with what they see now.

“The desert was free of light pollution,” Spock replies quietly. “There I could study the stars, and no one would judge if joy showed on my face.”

“You too had a place to get away.” Jim touches his hand.

“Now I can share it with you.” Spock looks up at him.

“Next time in Riverside I’ll take you to mine.” Jim smiles.

They walk around their new dwelling. The nook away from the window is ideal for a sleeping area, a big flat stone almost in the center of the cave can be used as a table, and an indent in the floor nearby may serve as a base for a hearth, and there are lots of rocks suitable for building a makeshift oven.

The next couple of hours they gather brushwood, pick biggest and softest leaves to make bed, and try to eat some more of the purple fruit. Luckily, it gives them no bad reactions, even to Jim with his numerous allergies, so they consider it safe so far. At last the cave is ready for the night, and they can explore the lagoon.

The forest is tranquil around them as they descend from the peak, nothing disturbs it except the two strangers in this alien world. Bright butterflies are fluttering from flower to flower, cicadas are singing gently; it’s as if the whole place is under a spell. It should give Jim the creeps, but instead he half expects to wake up on the _Enterprise_ and tell his husband about this weird dream. It’s a miracle Jim can function at all, thinking, making decisions while beside him Spock is gloriously naked. When Spock bends over to pick up a stone, showing off his taut shapely butt, Jim’s heart skips a beat, blood rushing to Jim’s cock. Spock glances at Jim with feigned innocence and leads the way to the shore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to the amazing [ WeirdLittleStories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdLittleStories/pseuds/WeirdLittleStories) for becoming my beta, making insightful suggestions, and being incredibly supportive!

White sand is hot under Jim’s feet, but not unpleasantly so. Crystal clear waters of the lagoon are shallower than in the open sea, and the bottom is covered with corals: pink, violet, yellow. The forest is as lush on the opposite side of the lagoon. Jim follows Spock, hugs him from behind and trails kisses along his nape, rising into the short cropped hair. Spock leans back into Jim’s embrace, his pleasure spreading through the bond and lighting Jim up from the inside.

“What do you have here?” Jim looks over Spock’s shoulder.

“Pyrite,” Spock says, the stone in his hand glistening in the sun like gold.

“Oh, that’s great!” Jim grins. “We’ll find flint, and it’ll be easy to start a fire.”

Spock turns to face him and caresses Jim’s cheek. The salty breeze is playing with their hair, waves lapping at their feet.

_Your eyes are more beautiful than the sea._

Spock covers Jim’s lips with his, and their fingers entwine in _ozh’esta_. The stone slips out of Spock’s hand, but neither of them notices. Jim opens up for Spock as Spock kisses him deeply. It’s as if this paradise world urges them to forget everything and be together, have time for each other. Jim holds his husband, savoring Spock’s familiar taste. No grueling assignments, no emergencies, no tough choices. Just them. Spock strokes Jim’s shoulders, then his palms go down Jim’s back and knead Jim’s ass. Both are growing hard, and Spock’s cock already started leaking with natural lube. Jim moans into the kiss, rocking his hips, grinding their cocks together. Spock wraps his hand around their cocks, and they both push into his fist, grunting and panting. They never stop kissing, although their skin is over -sensitized with prickling stubble. It works them up more. Jim puts his hand above Spock’s, making the channel they’re pounding into longer. Both hiss and whine as their pulsing cockheads rub against each other, Spock’s secreting more and more lube.

Lust consumes Jim, destroying last vestiges of self-restraint, enflaming Spock. Spock’s need—raw, visceral—fills Jim, soaks him through, much like when they shared Spock’s first _pon farr_. The Vulcan sex drive may stay dormant if suppressed, but once unleashed, it’s like wildfire. Spock breaks the kiss and pushes down on Jim’s shoulder, so that Jim lowers himself onto the sand. Jim obliges, kissing Spock’s chest, stomach, navel, and finally pressing a loving smooch to Spock’s engorged, leaking cock. Spock makes Jim lie on his back and straddles Jim’s hips, then he takes Jim’s cock in hand and gives it long, luxurious strokes. Jim sighs in bliss, running his hands up Spock’s body and teasing Spock’s pert nipples. Spock throws back his head, his lips parted; he presses their cocks together again and undulates his hips, their cocks sliding in copious lube. Sand is sticking to Jim’s back and butt, gets into Jim’s hair, but it barely registers in Jim’s mind. He grabs Spock’s ass and squeezes it so hard its cheeks spread.

Spock gasps, his neck arched, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His slick hand slips behind, and he fingers himself impatiently, using his Vulcan controls to make his muscles accommodate. Then he rises on his knees and with his hand he guides Jim’s cock to his hole.

“Spock,” Jim protests, despite being high on lust. _It’s been a while—_

 _You won’t hurt me_ , Spock’s thought races through the bond, and Spock pushes himself down on Jim’s cock with a guttural groan.

The blunt tip breaches the puckered rim, Spock takes Jim’s girth in one go, and Jim bites his lip—Spock is so deliciously tight. Spock gazes at Jim, his eyes black with desire, yet endlessly tender.

“I love you,” Jim whispers.

Spock starts rolling his hips in a rough rhythm, ragged gasps escaping his parted lips. Jim caresses his sides, holding his gaze. The friction against his slick walls is delicious, Spock takes Jim in deeper and deeper; the bond pulses with his craving for _more_ , _harder_. Spock’s heavy, stiff cock is bouncing up and down as his ass slaps against Jim’s groin. Jim closes his hand around Spock’s length and strokes it while Spock rides him with abandon. When they had just become a couple, they were as hungry, as desperate for each other. Now, years later, tentative exploration had turned into deep knowledge, and it’s far from boring. Their moans grow louder and louder, merging into one long whine.

“Jim... I... I...” Spock slurs.

Jim releases Spock’s cock and palms Spock’s thighs, coaxing him to move slower. The expression on Spock’s flushed face is so open and vulnerable Jim pulls him down and kisses him until they’re out of breath. Spock runs two extended fingers along Jim’s cheekbone, care and loyalty sparkling between them in their mental connection, then he resumes the pace, faster, faster, fucking himself hard on Jim’s cock. Jim meets his thrusts, hits and hits home as both sink in the tide of pleasure. Spock grasps Jim’s shoulders helplessly—with a sharp intake of air he shudders, white spurts smearing Jim’s belly. Jim slams into him again, groaning, and bursts inside him. Spock takes all of it, clenches around Jim, milks him to the last drop. Their heartbeats are racing, and they are breathing hard, still joined, basking in each other’s warmth. Jim sits up and pulls Spock into an embrace. Spock leans into him, and they hold each other, wishing for these moments of closeness to linger. They’re sticky and gross, semen mixed with sand is abrasive, but it doesn’t matter.

“I missed us,” Jim says against Spock’s ear.

“So did I,” Spock replies quietly. “By the time of our last memories, we hadn’t been intimate for 2.7 weeks.”

“Then it’s been almost a month,” Jim sighs.

“Our schedule has been taxing,” Spock says.

His emotions withdraw, even though Jim is still inside him. The bond tenses, strained by the lack of mental union which is as natural as physical. Spock lets go of Jim and rises, Jim’s softened length slipping out of him.

Jim tries to stifle pangs of bitterness as they walk towards the lagoon in silence. It’s been going on for quite a while. At first they’d been too tired to have quality time. What chess games or movie nights, when you have emergency after emergency and pulling double shifts became almost a norm? A wild idea that they’d better leave the _Enterprise_ didn’t seem so wild anymore. Something’s been gnawing on Spock too, but he preferred to keep it to himself. It’s not as if they didn’t try to reach out for each other—stilted questions, elusive answers followed by awkward silence... Altamid didn’t change it, despite the fact that Jim decided to stay. Too many things were left unsaid. They stopped sharing minds, and with their hectic schedule rarely shared a bed even for sleeping. Eventually it turned into a convenient excuse to avoid subjects neither wanted to broach.

They wade in the warm water until it reaches their chests. Gently Spock washes Jim, and Jim does the same for him. All troubles be damned, they’re too drawn to each other. It’s easy to pretend that whatever bothers them doesn’t exist, at least for now. They swim, dive and kiss under water, alone together in this whole world.

“It’s like a dream,” Jim says when they resurface. “A fantasy I had so often.”

“You fantasized about copulating on the beach?” Spock deadpans, the fucker.

“That included,” Jim chuckles. “I imagined running away with you to some peaceful place. Stupid, isn’t it?”

“No,” Spock replies, his gaze growing serious. “No, Jim, it is not.”

Like so many times for the past month, he seems to be on the verge of telling, but the words won’t come out. There’s yearning in his eyes, but he curbs the wish to let Jim sense his thoughts. And Jim doesn’t press, for fear it will draw them apart completely.

“Could it be an illusion?” he asks instead. “This all could be made from shreds of our dreams and memories. The forest on Altamid, your cave on Vulcan, my fantasy... When you served under Pike’s command, you came across some powerful telepaths. Talos IV it was, right?”

“A fair point,” Spock agrees. “It takes much effort to keep my desires under control. If it wasn’t for our bond, it would be difficult to ascertain that your presence is not a construct of my mind.”

“Yay the bond,” Jim smirks mirthlessly. “It proves that neither of us is fake if all the rest is.”

“There is a way to test your theory,” Spock says. “It will require a lot of mental concentration.”

“Then we should have a good dinner first,” Jim replies, peering into the water, where flocks of silver fish are darting between the corals.

Spock gives him a fond look and doesn’t quite sigh.

“And let’s find some more fruit,” Jim smiles at him. “If it happens in our minds, I bet we won’t get poisoned. How about this kind of a test?”

“Questionable,” Spock mutters.

They go back to the shore; droplets on Spock’s skin are shimmering in the afternoon sun, accenting the muscles of his lithe body. His wet coal black hair is in disarray, his cheeks framed with stubble... Jim just can’t fight himself anymore and ogles his husband openly. Spock’s gaze is raking over Jim as well, their bond simmering again: they’re sated, but not for long. If it’s their subconscious, no wonder it runs wild with a vengeance—they both had a severe case of blue balls. While being married to each other. While serving on the same ship. Pathetic.

In the forest they gather vines for a net, and in the process discover more fruit which seem harmless after initial tests. Maybe it’s luck or maybe their abilities to define edible stuff, a skill both honed as kids, Spock during _kahs-wan_ , and Jim... on a failed agricultural colony. The same colony taught Jim to make nets for fishing and hunting, his hands remember it of their own accord. Spock watches in fascination as Jim’s fingers move deftly, weaving loops and tying knots, then together they set up the net on the shoal in the corals. In the matter of minutes the net is full of flapping silver fish the size of mackerel. Jim keeps two and lets out the rest.

Tinder is in abundance under the trees, and they find flint among pebbles on the shore. Spock brings the pyrite, knocks out sparks, and soon the fire is cracking merrily, fish frying on sticks.

“Please be careful while trying them,” Spock says.

“Yeah, sure,” Jim nods. “But something tells me they’re gonna be okay.”

“If this is not an illusion, perhaps this is a kind of a pleasure planet which grants wishes?” Spock muses, putting fruit into the ash.

“Like the one with guns, tigers, and other shenanigans?” Jim grins, remembering last year. “Then where are the tricoder and the shuttlecraft we explicitly asked for?”

“However, we wished for food and shelter which we obtained, almost effortlessly. We wished for each other...” Spock gives him a wistful glance.

“And it was granted too,” Jim says softly.

Despite reservations, the food turns out to be very good. They dine without any accidents: the fish are delicious, and so are the baked fruit. Actually, it would be better to call those vegetables. The remaining hard shells can be used as bowls, quite handy for housekeeping.

When dinner is done with, the sun is already setting, so they decide to return to the cave before nightfall. It gets pitch dark in less than half an hour, three small and dim moons rising in the sky. They look at the stars through the opening in the cave ceiling—their natural observatory—but the constellations are completely unfamiliar, or memories about charting this sector are gone.

“Well, we’re officially lost,” Jim mutters, lighting up the hearth they prepared beforehand.

“It is imperative that we explore the nature of our amnesia,” Spock replies and settles down cross-legged on the bed of leaves. “Come, Jim.”

Jim sits next to him, and they begin with simple breathing exercises, gazing at the flickering flames. Just as Spock taught him, Jim allows his mind to flow. The bond is relaxed, the murmur of Spock’s thoughts very near, but unintelligible. Spock’s warm presence, both at Jim’s side and at the back of Jim’s mind, is comforting. Jim inhales and exhales, entering a light trance. _Safe, loved_. God, how he missed it, just being with his husband. Slowly, Jim goes through the memories of their last assignment, trying to recall the smallest details which could serve as leads.

Meanwhile, Spock, supported by Jim’s proximity, descends further, to the level where the conscious meets the subconscious. The bond communicates his utmost concentration as he searches there—

A jolt of searing pain. A white flash eclipses everything. Another jolt. Jim cries out, thrown out of the trance. Bile rises in his throat; blood is pounding in his temples. The bond twists and pulses, pain sweeping over it. Jim blinks as his eyesight comes into focus. Spock is shaking badly, clutching his head and wheezing through clenched teeth. His unseeing eyes are staring into space; he is sagging to the side—Jim catches him before he falls.

“Spock!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Spock!” Jim yells, holding Spock by the shoulders. “Spock!”

Spock keeps shaking and shivering, his face ashen. His mind is struggling to snap out of it—whatever it is, he is trapped there. Jim takes a deep breath, forcing himself to concentrate, and reaches into Spock’s mind. Usually he’d see Spock’s beautiful mindscape, Spock visualized it for him to help him navigate. Now it’s dark; Spock’s consciousness is deep down, and Jim doesn’t know how to go there. He’s no expert in mental disciplines and no healer.

 _Spock!_ Jim pulls at the bond with all his might. _Spock, over here!_

Spock’s consciousness touches the bond weakly, groping in the dark.

_Yes, follow me!_

Spock’s grasp gets stronger, then he takes a firm hold of the bond and rushes towards Jim’s call—

Jim gulps for air, back in his own head again. The cave lit by the fire is around him, his body feels solid, as does Spock, propped up on his lap. There’s no pain anymore, and the bond is back to normal.

“Jim,” Spock whispers. “ _T’hy’la._ ”

He looks up at Jim, his eyes gentle, but tired.

“Sweetheart,” Jim beams at him, stroking his cheek.

“Jim, I found...” Spock’s voice falters.

“Wait a sec, I’ll get you some water.” Jim carefully moves Spock onto the bedding of leaves and darts to the adjacent cave with a fruit shell.

He brings water from the spring and kneels beside Spock. Spock raises himself on one elbow and drinks everything in the bowl. A bout of dizziness echoes through the bond. Jim’s own energy is depleted, despite the speed with which everything happened. Spock shivers again; Jim hugs him, and they lie down, facing each other.

“I found a powerful psionic block within my mind,” Spock says. “Since we are in the same condition, there must be one within yours as well.”

“Someone really messed with our heads,” Jim mutters grimly.

“When I tried to push at the block, its influence intensified,” Spock continues. “But I sensed no alien presence behind it.”

“How so?”

“Perhaps it is a psionic trauma, I do not know. Tomorrow I shall try to observe it without touching.”

Spock is still pale, healthy color barely returned to his cheeks, but there’s resolve in his eyes, because it's the only way to find out what has become of the ship and her crew. Jim’s heart clenches.

“Look at my mind instead,” Jim says firmly. “If anything goes wrong, you have the abilities and training to handle it.”

“Very well,” Spock replies after some hesitation. “Your logic is sound.”

“Then that’s the plan.” Jim strokes his shoulder.

Spock moves closer to Jim, and Jim shifts onto his back, so that Spock is half-draped over him. Tomorrow they will share thoughts at last. Besides the block, most likely Spock will see things Jim didn’t have courage to tell him about. Maybe Spock will regret choosing Jim as a mate. But if there’s any chance it’ll keep him from further harm, so be it.

 

The Yorktown hub is teeming with people—happy reunions, excited crew members discussing plans for R&R on one of the most beautiful star bases in the Federation, residents from all over the quadrant trading and advertising... Spock went ashore first and should be already in the hotel. Jim was delayed by a transmission from Starfleet Command: his request about two vacant positions on Yorktown was relayed to Commodore Paris, and she is to inform him of her decision personally.

A few feet away, Sulu is hugging his daughter and husband, whom he hasn’t seen for months. Faces alight with joy, the three hardly notice anyone around. Jim smiles, a little bit envious, but so glad for his friends. If everything goes smoothly—if he gets a promotion and if Spock agrees—they will settle down here for a less stressful life, maybe even have kids. Maybe serving on a starship is not for them, unlike their counterparts from another universe. He’s not sure how Spock will take it, though.

A sharp stab of grief sweeps through the bond. Jim reels for a moment as anguish overwhelms him with Vulcan intensity. Spock.

_Spock, what happened? Where are you?_

Jim dashes through the crowd in the direction the bond leads him. Spock is distraught, it’s something terrible, something unexpected. It’s difficult to pinpoint his exact location, and Jim just follows the call of the bond. Abruptly, the torrent of emotions weakens: Spock tries to cut them off, but some keep bleeding through.

_Please, Spock, talk to me._

Jim runs across the square, maneuvering between people.

_Forgive me for the transference, Jim. I’m at... at the observation level._

Jim spots the elevator straight ahead and jumps in. Citizens of half a dozen races stare at a starship captain, red faced and panting—Jim doesn’t care, praying for the elevator to go faster. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, he sends support and reassurance through the bond, trying to assuage Spock’s anguish, at least a little. When the elevator reaches the top floor, he is alone in the cabin. The observation level is deserted at this time, and Spock is the only one here, his silhouette outlined by the dim light against the dark vista of space. His posture is ramrod straight, head lowered, and there’s a PADD in his hands. Jim runs up to him, grasps him by the arms and looks into his face—blank, expressionless in the same horrible way it was when Vulcan crumbled before his eyes.

“What is it, _ashayam_?” Jim pleads. “Something wrong with the family? Is it Sarek?”

“Ambassador Spock passed away,” Spock says quietly, showing Jim the obituary. “Employees of the Vulcan Consulate have told me...”

Everything inside Jim goes numb. There is a picture of the elder Spock and two stardates under it. The second stardate, which follows the one marking the birth, seems unreal, someone’s bad joke. The other Spock will always be around, right? Despite the age and health problems. They can always call him for advice or just to chat, hear his deep raspy voice and see his warm brown eyes, so alike and yet different from the eyes of his younger counterpart. Suddenly Jim is wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug, and Spock’s emotions break through the bond again. Spock clings to him, and Jim holds his husband, unable to cry, unable to utter a word. No, it doesn’t make any sense.

Somehow, the touch and the bond anchor them, but then the observation level of Yorktown morphs into the _Enterprise_ bridge, half-dark, red emergency lighting on the verge of a shutdown. Spock is not in Jim’s arms anymore, he’s not even aboard. Together with Bones he nearly escaped death when the turbolift shot out into open space from the gaping wound of the _Enterprise_. They managed to hijack one of the swarm ships by some miracle and because they are the best.

_Spock, hang in there with Bones. Reach the planet safe and sound, both, you hear me?_

_We will, Jim. Please board a Kelvin pod as soon as possible._

Like during so many crises, the bond radiates calm and composure. Even now Spock believes in him. Jim is the last one on the _Enterprise_ ; he allows himself a few more moments with his Silver Lady. The outer hull is burning up, engulfed by the bright orange flames. The dying ship groans, its bulkheads, its consoles, every surface quivering in the final throes of agony. The planet below has bristled its teeth, the mountains. The saucer is hurtling into the maw, chased by the swarm which snatches the escape pods. The crew count on their captain. Gotta get them out. Jim steps into the Kelvin pod—his dad saves him yet again. The pod carries him away while the _Enterprise_ takes shattering blows against the rocks, then crashes in the forest, mutilated and covered in dirt. My girl, I wanted to leave you. But not like this, not like this.

The navigation system failed, the helm barely functional. Doctor McCoy curses. The damaged alien craft is spiraling out of control, so landing will be rough. The _Enterprise_ has perished. Spock didn’t realize until now: it was the only place where he was at ease with himself, where he truly fit in. Now it is gone. Only the bond keeps supporting him, this blessed connection with Jim. Not all is lost yet. He must be strong for Jim. The impact knocks out the air from Spock’s lungs, and a blinding pain pierces him just above his heart.

 

Clutching his side, Jim gasps and jolts awake. At first he’s disoriented—he’s not in their quarters and not in a hotel on Yorktown either. He sits up, looking around, and then the events of the previous day catch up with him. The cave is dark, dim moonlight streams through the opening in the ceiling. Leaves of their nest-like bedding rustle as Spock sits up beside Jim. Jim lunges at him and hugs him tightly.

“Jim, you were dreaming,” Spock murmurs, wrapping his arms around Jim.

“You picked up my nightmare, I’m sorry.” Jim covers Spock’s side with his hand.

A steady Vulcan heartbeat is thumping under Jim’s palm. There’s no trace of the wound, the skin is smooth. Spock is alright.

“It is all in the past.” Spock rubs soothing circles on Jim’s back.

Jim inhales Spock’s scent and kisses Spock’s neck. It’s so good to hold him and to be held by him. Hugs are great. How come they stopped doing that?

“Subconscious is a bitch,” Jim mumbles against Spock’s neck.

“Did you really wish us to transfer from the _Enterprise_?” Spock asks, still stroking Jim’s back.

“You saw everything, didn’t you?” Jim sighs and pulls back. “At one point, yes.”

“So this was the reason for your reticence,” Spock says. It’s a statement, not a question, but there’s no judgment in it.

Jim stays silent for a beat. Man up, Kirk. It’s about time you grew a pair.

“When we started out on this mission, I resolved to bring everyone back home after it,” he begins slowly. “That the clusterfuck with Khan was the last time anyone died under my command. Naive and presumptuous, huh? Altamid aside, over the previous seven months... An away team of five didn’t return from the Mycoris Nebula, four were killed by the natives on Janos Alpha, ten are buried on Keltar VI and half of the crew was sick...”

Jim looks away, each face and name distinct in his memory.

“Our sensors didn’t register the approaching ion storm in the Mycoris Nebula. It was impossible to predict the attack on Janos Alpha. On Keltar VI our crew prevented a pandemic that could have destroyed the entire population of the planet,” Spock says softly.

“When people lose their lives, it’s my responsibility.” Jim shakes his head. “When a bigoted Ensign causes an interplanetary scandal, it’s my responsibility. It’s my responsibility every day, every minute. By the middle of the second year I wondered more and more whether I was cut out for this. Perhaps I signed on to be worthy of my dad and Pike’s trust. Perhaps it’s the life of that other Jim Kirk I won’t become.”

“You had less time to adjust to captaincy, and you did it in a most admirable way.” Spock frowns. “Jim, you ‘burned out’, as Humans call it. I sensed the change in you.”

“You were worried about me. You were under a tremendous pressure too, doing everything to help me, and it was taking toll on you. So when the opportunity on Yorktown came along, I figured, why not? One last assignment, and then I would ask you.”

“Yet you declined promotion after Altamid.”

“Altamid... it reminded me why we’re out there—to make a difference. Ambassador Spock was right.” Jim meets Spock’s gaze again. “I should have shown you all this in the meld. But we were already drifting apart, and this... you’d get completely disappointed in me.”

“My Jim.” Spock hugs Jim fiercely. “Do you feel that I am now?”

“No.” Jim lets out a shaky exhale and nuzzles the junction between Spock’s neck and shoulder.

“I owe you an explanation as well,” Spock whispers. “May I have your thoughts? Please?”

Jim just nods, pressing himself to Spock.


	4. Chapter 4

_Spock’s presence expands in Jim’s mind, the familiar touch of his thoughts really is like homecoming. It takes away so much stress from them both, as if two halves which were forcibly kept apart finally come together..._

_...They are on Yorktown, watching the assembly of the new flagship. A new hope. Their reunion after the defeat of Edison was raw, no words, no uncertainties, only their primal need for each other. Today they celebrate their birthdays together—it has become a tradition since their bonding._

_“Back then, you wanted to tell me something in the turbolift. Was it related to Ambassador Spock’s passing?” Jim asks._

_When you asked this, I thought whether it was worth burdening you. This would cast a shadow on the party Doctor McCoy and the crew prepared so carefully. And so I chose to be elusive which was a mistake._

_“More or less,” Spock says._

_Jim’s expression closes off, and an invisible barrier between them snaps into place again..._

_Other memories of last year begin to flash._

_Space exploration was your dream, our dream. Yet, as the mission progressed, I grew to question its merits. Its demands were draining you. Meanwhile, my counterpart’s health was deteriorating, and there was still a lot to be done on New Vulcan. We could be of more use on the colony than aboard the_ Enterprise _. We could contribute to rebuilding of the Vulcan race by adopting children, and we could have our own._

 _The news of the Ambassador’s passing solidified these ideas. I intended to discuss them with you upon returning from Altamid. However, the loss of our ship... I understood how important the_ Enterprise _was to me, how fulfilling it made my life. Remember that photo from the Ambassador’s belongings? For years that crew explored the unknown, and their discoveries were invaluable in their universe. It’s up to us to make those discoveries in ours. You found your inspiration again, and I didn’t wish to thwart it..._

“You were protecting me, even by your silence. I got it all wrong,” Jim says quietly. “Gosh, we really are a perfect fit. Both had our doubts. Both thought of getting away from it all...”

“...and miscommunicated despite having a most powerful telepathic bond,” Spock finishes his thought.

“Two idiots. No wonder Bones is always bitching,” Jim chuckles.

“Don’t mention that to him when we see him again.” Spock’s lips curve up in a small smile.

Jim snorts—if Bones found out, they wouldn’t hear the end of it. They will see him and the crew again. They will. Spock nods, the expression of his dark eyes earnest. At last they can read each other easily as they used to. It’s such a relief not to hold back from his mind anymore, to feel him within, not just on the far end of the bond, and to be in him. Jim touches Spock’s mind lovingly, reaching deep. Spock’s essence engulfs him and tingles under his skin, spreads along Jim’s body. Spock brushes his fingers gently over Jim’s psi points and caresses the round shell of Jim’s ear. Heat pools in Jim’s belly—the heat that courses through the bond and makes them both hard. Their chests are pressed together, and Jim shifts to wrap his legs around Spock’s hips. They kiss, slowly, languidly, rediscovering each other. Between the kisses Spock lowers Jim onto their nest-like bedding, and Jim spreads his legs. Spock’s hands roam over Jim’s chest and sides as Spock makes love to Jim’s mouth. Jim slips his hand down, closes his fist around Spock’s length and starts to stroke it, teasing the sensitive head. Spock all but purrs in pleasure; he rests his forehead against Jim’s, and they breathe each other’s air. The bond is sultry and simmering, tangy aroma of leaves mingling with the musky scent of arousal. The moist head of Spock’s cock gets slicker and slicker with each stroke.

 _I’m always in awe how amazing you and your biology are_ , Jim muses.

Spock smirks, trailing open-mouthed kisses along Jim’s neck, down his chest and belly. Jim takes Spock’s hand into his own and sucks at Spock’s fingertips. Spock shivers as Jim grazes the pads with his teeth and tongue—pleasure spikes across the bond, lust flaring up. Spock wraps his lips around Jim’s stiff cock and sucks him off with slurping, obscene noises. All Jim can do is moan. Spock’s features can be barely seen in the dark, but his hot mouth is bliss. Spock licks the underside of Jim’s cock and sucks Jim’s balls, then his slick fingers probe at Jim’s entrance, teasing the tight rim. One digit slips inside, and Jim hums contentedly as it moves and curves to loosen him. Jim’s body remembers well, it needs this—soon the second finger pushes in, stretching Jim’s hole. Jim keens when the fingers press at his prostate. He’s so ready, but Spock continues finger fucking him, completely caught up in it, pleasure and lust coursing through the bond. Jim caresses Spock’s mind, pours all the love and desire into their connection. Spock’s breath catches—the instinct to claim becomes overpowering.

Spock’s fingers withdraw, and before Jim can whimper at the emptiness, Spock’s thick, wet cock breaches him and pushes into him. Spock climbs on top of Jim, and Jim hooks his legs over Spock’s thighs, urging him deeper, until Spock is inside Jim up to the hilt. Their breaths mingle as Spock moves, in and out, rocks into Jim exactly as they both like. Jim grunts and gasps, full of him, and just gazes at his husband’s beloved face. The happiness in Spock’s features and in the bond is the same that permeates Jim. The feel of Spock’s length, sleek and hard, pounding Jim’s ass is beyond words. Jim enjoys Spock’s weight on him, and how Spock’s body slides against his own. They found their easy, natural rhythm the very first time they made love, like they were born for each other. Indeed they were. Jim’s cock is trapped between their bellies, and Spock’s pubes are grazing Jim’s balls; the friction is amazing. As they kiss, their stubble prickles, but it only adds to the sensations. Spock goes slower, setting each nerve ending inside Jim ablaze. Jim lifts his legs and bends his knees to make the angle even better—Spock strokes Jim’s inner thighs, hitting and hitting Jim’s sweet spot.

Their moans entwine, and the bond is overflowing with joy. Any reasons to be separated are stupid. As long as they are together, everything is right. Jim smiles at his husband, and Spock smiles right back, full on, open, something he allows himself to do only for Jim and in private. He is beautiful. He is moving inside Jim gently, but with a relentless precision. Jim floats in a warm, languid stream of pleasure until it carries him over the edge. There’s a familiar tightening in Jim’s balls, and Jim spills over his own stomach, his toes curling as Spock follows, hot spurts filling Jim up. Jim loves feeling Spock’s come inside him, loves being so claimed.

 _Mine_ , Spock’s mental voice rings through the bond while Spock keeps fucking him.

They kiss and kiss again, their rhythm gradually slowing, and then lie catching their breath, their limbs tangled. Sated, they caress each other’s hands lazily while their heartbeats calm down. The bond is glowing and fuzzy—this time they are sharing their minds just as much as their bodies. After a while, when they start getting sore, Spock pulls out and shifts to lie beside Jim, but the bond remains wide open as they bathe in each other’s thoughts and emotions. Both missed it too much.

 _From now on, whatever happens, I won’t withdraw, I’ll share it with you_. Jim brushes Spock’s disheveled bangs.

 _I shall do the same. Keeping distance brought only harm._ Spock runs two extended fingers along Jim’s jaw.

_I hated it._

_So did I._

They continue slow caresses of each other’s minds, reaching directly for pleasure centers. It strikes Jim how inseparable they have grown over the years of their bonding, like two trees with their roots and branches intertwined. Such depth of intimacy wouldn’t have been comfortable with anyone else. It just wouldn’t have been possible. But it’s his Spock. Spock’s mind is thriving on this telepathic exchange, pulsing with energy—

“Jim,” Spock whispers, somewhat abashed.

His hard length pokes Jim in the hip. Jim lets out a low whistle, palming Spock’s cock which is already moist with lube. Spock bucks his hips, rubbing his cock against Jim’s fingers.

“Mmm, what an important discovery we’ve made,” Jim drawls.

He rolls onto his side and bends his upper leg. Spock wraps his arm around Jim’s waist, pressing their bodies flush together, and slips into Jim’s stretched and wet hole. There’s no way Jim can get it up as fast, since his stamina doesn’t get a boost from telepathy, but Spock’s cock inside him again is wonderful. The sweet burn of chaffed skin wakes relished memories of _pon farr_. Just like then Jim is happy to give anything his husband needs. Spock’s hand travels down to Jim’s soft cock and strokes it lovingly as Spock thrusts into Jim, his crotch slapping against Jim’s ass cheeks. Semen mixed with lube is oozing out of Jim’s hole, and Jim groans in pleasure each time Spock hits his prostate. Spock reaches into Jim’s mind too—waves of bliss wash over Jim one after another until he is coming, without ejaculation, without being hard at all. Spock nuzzles the back of Jim’s head, his hot come filling Jim up and undoing Jim completely.

Panting heavily, they lie spooning, high on the afterglow. Jim’s hole is a bit raw, and Spock’s softening cock rests in the cleft of Jim’s butt. A deep sense of contentment is shared between them—despite being on this strange planet, despite being in the dark about the crew and the ship—at last they are truly close as they used to be. Spock’s mental presence has retreated to the other side of the bond, it’s not distant, it’s just getting drowsy. Jim starts drifting off, himself, but there’s a growing wet spot where Spock’s come is leaking out of him, and they will be a mess in the morning. Unwillingly, they manage to rise and clean up, and then they settle down again, curled into each other.

 

Jim wakes up to the delicious smell of food. He stretches luxuriously, every cell of his body vibrant and happy. His butt is pleasantly sore, and his stomach churns. Beside the bedding there is a flat stone, like a tray or a small table, and on it breakfast for two is served: baked vegetables, fresh fruit, and water in the makeshift bowls. Jim takes a piece of vegetable with a golden crust and devours it, its soft starchy pulp melting on Jim’s tongue. The taste is divine—Spock baked it just right, and Jim is ravenous.

 _I love you so much_ , Jim sends over the bond to Spock who is somewhere close.

 _And I you_ , follows a reply, then Spock walks in from the adjacent cave.

He looks as glowing as Jim feels, his dark eyes shining. When he sits down next to Jim, Jim pulls him into a kiss.

“Good morning,” Spock says against Jim’s lips.

“Indeed,” Jim runs two extended fingers along Spock’s knuckles.

Spock lets out a sound close to a snort—it has become their inside joke.

“I made crude instruments from materials at hand,” he says as they start with their meal. “And discovered that we’re in the Southern Hemisphere of this planet.”

“The shadow of your sundial goes counterclockwise?” Jim asks and munches on another piece of the baked vegetable.

“Exactly,” Spock inclines his head. “As you have guessed, at noon we will be able to define directions, the altitude of the sun, and calculate the latitude.”

“That’s my science officer,” Jim gives him an admiring grin. “Spent your morning time most efficiently.”

“Not all of it,” Spock says, his lips curving up and his gaze warm. “I allowed myself half an hour in my husband’s arms.”

“We should include lazy mornings in our routine when we return to the ship,” Jim caresses Spock’s stubbled cheek.

The thick black stubble grew even longer overnight, already turning into a decent beard. For the first time Jim sees his prim and neat Spock like this; there’s something primal, savage about his look. Spock kisses Jim’s fingertips.

“For now it is reasonable to gather data using available means,” he says.

“Yeah, if we don’t know what planet it is, at least we can figure out where we are on it,” Jim agrees.

They are finishing the meal when a gentle chirping makes them turn their heads. A bird, not bigger than a sparrow, is sitting on the edge of the opening in the ceiling. Its feathers of deep blue are glistening in the morning light.

“But there were no birds yesterday, right?” Jim furrows his brow.

“Perhaps we failed to notice them,” Spock says.

“No way, we’ve been wandering in the forest the whole day,” Jim replies.

They get up and walk outside. By the entrance there are several flat boulders. Spock turned one of them into a sundial, having placed a long narrow stone upright in the center and marked the passing of the shadow with pebbles. There also lies a quadrant—a simple navigation tool—made of twigs and vines. On another boulder Spock put pieces of fruit and vegetables to dry them in the sun. A flock of little blue birds is feasting on this treat, chirping merrily.

“Shoo!” Jim scares the birds away.

“Jim,” Spock touches Jim’s arm and points to the left, into the depth of the forest. “I didn’t observe it earlier.”

A plume of white smoke is rising over the green crowns of trees. It wasn’t possible to search the entire atoll for debris in one day. What if it’s a shuttlecraft after all? Some equipment might have short-circuited just now, thus making the crash site visible amidst the lush foliage.

Jim and Spock exchange glances and set off towards the source of the smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

The forest is filled with chirping, singing, and chattering. Birds of different kinds are hunting the insects and pecking at the abundant fruit. It’s as if someone let them out from cages hidden somewhere.

“Fascinating,” Spock says, looking around. “Two point six hours ago, when I was gathering fruit for breakfast, there were no birds.”

“We need to try and find out where they came from,” Jim mutters. “Perhaps then we’ll get some answers about this weird place.”

“We should explore as much of the atoll as possible,” Spock replies.

“Yeah, we’ll do that,” Jim says. “After we’re done with the crash site.”

The soil under their feet becomes rocky as they go in the direction of the smoke. Powerful roots of tropical trees dig stubbornly into the ground, weaving an intricate net around boulders and crushing them. Spock narrows his eyes and quickens his pace, listening intently to something. Soon hissing and splashing reach Jim’s ears as well. The forest gives way to a barren area, a bald patch in the thick mane of foliage. Steam—not smoke—is spreading all around from deep pits among rocks, and the next moment an enormous column of water shoots up high into the sky from one of them. Thankfully, Spock and Jim stopped at a safe distance from the fountain of boiling water.

“A geyser,” Jim gasps, with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. So much for the crashed shuttlecraft.

The huge geyser erupts for several seconds, gallons of water collapsing from the height of a several-storied house with more hissing and steam. Then the eruption stops as suddenly as it began, and everything goes still. Jim turns back and heads further into the forest, intent on exploring it as per the plan. Spock follows.

“Geysers signify geologically recent volcanic activity,” he says, unperturbed. Unlike Jim, he didn’t rely on hopes too much. “Our dwelling in fact is an extinct volcano. The rate at which the forest is taking over the infertile land of volcanic origin seems too fast for a natural process. The ecosystem is obviously incomplete, and given the abrupt way the birds appeared, species are introduced rather than developing on their own.”

“You mean this place is being terraformed,” Jim mutters, frowning. “Then we are dealing with a highly developed civilization. We’ve been caught and watched by superior civilizations before. This time we gave them quite a performance, eh?”

“As an ancestor of mine maintained, it’s a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence,” Spock says.

“The odds of finding any traces of technology on a newly terraformed world are very small.” Jim sighs.

The wilderness all around them is pristine, and birds are everywhere, as if they always have been—it’s virtually impossible to define where they came from. For the next few hours Jim and Spock do scour the forest, to no avail. By noon they return to the cave, only to find feces where fruit and vegetables were laid out for drying. Jim chortles; Spock gives a not-shrug of his. Together they finish the celestial measurements Spock started in the morning. After that calculating their approximate coordinates on this planet isn’t difficult. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. Then they change leaves of their bedding and prepare a simple lunch. Ever since they bonded, they rarely had an opportunity to slow down and do trivial, domestic things. It would’ve been beautiful under different circumstances.

They eat, both deep in thought, yet the silence is comfortable as it used to be before the estrangement.

“So, the only true evidence we have is our blocked memories,” Jim says when they’re done with the meal. “You’ve got to try and break that goddamn block in my head, Spock.”

“It could incapacitate you,” Spock replies grimly.

“Our crew could be poked and prodded at some alien lab right now. Or worse,” Jim says, cold running down his spine as he remembers Altamid.

Spock’s lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, Spock shifts, so that they sit face to face, and takes Jim’s hands into his. Jim’s eyes fall shut as the bond expands. Spock’s consciousness slides against his own, the union warm and comforting for both, as always. It lifts off the weight of brooding each of them was under.

 _You can imagine your minsdcape if you wish_ , _Spock’s_ _calm mental voice directs Jim_.

_Yeah, I do, it helps. Jim exhales, relaxing._

_They find themselves in a vast hall. Tall stacks of dark oak are filled with countless books—there are ladders to access upper shelves. The scent of pages, old and freshly printed, is so real Jim smiles. Spock’s amusement is sizzling as they pass oddly ordered sections: astrophysics is next to knitting, pop music is adjacent to tactics and strategy while martial arts are followed by cooking and so on._

_It only seems that there’s no system, but trust me, it’s convenient. Jim chuckles._

_As Humans say, I’ll take your word for it. You have a most dynamic mind, my husband._

_They move on to the long row containing memories of events in chronological sequence. One section of that row is covered by an opaque screen._

_The previous week. Jim touches the screen which is as solid as a wall._

_Spock puts his hands against too. Countless bright lines flash up and spread around Spock’s hands, gradually disappearing, absorbed by the screen._

_Without a doubt, it’s psionic energy, Jim. It reacts to mine, neutralizing my efforts as good insulation does, keeping circuitry safe. There is no will of its own, no living thought sustaining it._

_Maybe it’s induced by a drug or an implant of some sort? Jim suggests._

_I cannot sense anything artificial about it. It’s like—_

_A ripple of amazement passes through the bond._

_What is it, Spock?_

_Shasol T’Duv._

_The Land of Shadow?_

_On Vulcan-that-was, there was an area in the North of Na’Nam with a strong natural psionic field which, upon a prolonged exposure to it, interfered with one’s perception of reality._

_Then we might be in a similar place somewhere._

_Yes. It was difficult to remove its effects from your own mind, and those afflicted needed help from another. That’s why it took at least two to travel in the Land of Shadow. The field there didn’t form any mental blocks, but perhaps this one does. Let me try._

_More light spreads from Spock’s hands, thin lines thickening and forming a wide net. The screen begins to glow from the inside. Tremors run along its surface as it gets loose, and there’s a strange feeling, somewhat similar to the half-forgotten sensation from childhood when a milk tooth was about to fall out—_

 

“Hmm, Jim-boy, you’re in a much better shape than I’ve expected, considering so many carbs your diet,” Bones says, makes a note in his PADD, and switches the treadmill to a faster speed.

Jim’s sweaty T-shirt clings to his body uncomfortably; Jim pulls it over his head on the run and throws it aside.

“I need those carbs,” he replies, keeping his breath steady. “My work out routine is set on Vulcan conditions.”

“Good Lord,” Bones snorts, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve got to be ripped enough to carry around my Vulcan hubby.”

“Not interested in your off-duty pastimes.”

“I was talking about duty,” Jim smirks. “On Pixi V, when Spock injured his leg falling from that goddamn contraption where the natives held us, my workouts paid off.”

“Just remember to adjust your diet as you grow older or you’ll have quite a paunch by middle age.”

“Personal experience, eh, Doc?”

“Hope you’ll be as fit as I am in ten years, you brat.”

Suddenly Bones’s chuckling is drowned in the blaring of Red Alert, and at the same instant apprehension and curiosity fill the bond.

 _Spock?_ Jim touches the bond.

 _We have encountered a space-time anomaly,_ comes a reply. _Better via the comm._

The comm chimes just as the treadmill stops, and Jim dashes to the console. Spock is right—it’s necessary to follow the protocol, so that the ship’s log had all the data.

“Report, Mr. Spock,” Jim orders duly.

Spock’s eyebrow rises a little, but otherwise nothing betrays a momentary slip of his Vulcan composure at the sight of the captain shirtless and glistening with sweat.

“Captain, according to the telemetry, an energy cluster is traveling in our direction at the velocity of Warp 6. We are being pulled in, even though our engines are at full reverse. Visual range in 1.3 minutes.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Jim terminates the connection and sprints to the door—

_Do wear your tunic, Jim._

“Oh crap,” Jim curses, turns back, and Bones thrusts the gold tunic into his hands. “Rain check on the quarterly physical, Bones.”

Bones mutters something, but Jim is already in the corridor. Lights in the turbolift blink, its speed faltering for a moment—it means that the ship’s systems are under maximum strain. Jim puts on the tunic hurriedly, and the seam on the back zips up exactly in time for him to look presentable as the doors swish open and he enters the bridge. A cursory glance at the consoles is enough to understand that all readings are off the charts. The crew’s faces are worried, but everyone is working in perfect sync as ever.

“We’re in the visual range, sir,” Sulu announces.

“On screen,” Jim says and comes up to stand beside Spock in front of the captain’s chair.

The viewscreen floods the bridge with blinding golden light. A huge energy ribbon splits the darkness of space like boiling lava which tears apart crusts of land. The ribbon is coiling and swaying as if it were a living being, reaching out with its tendrils to the _Enterprise_.

“An increasing power drain has been detected,” Spock says quietly. “Mr. Scott is working on boosting the warp drive. If we don’t break away in 5.2 minutes, we won’t be able to.”

“Keptin, our chronometer iz acting crazy,” Chekov exclaims, wide-eyed. “It goes backwards, zen forwards, zen backwards again!”

“The nature of this energy cluster must be temporal,” Jim says under his breath and presses the intercom button on the armrest of the captain’s chair. “Kirk to Engineering.”

He gets only garbled noise from the speakers and casts a questioning look at Uhura.

“The intercom has gone offline, sir,” she answers calmly, her hands flying over the communications console. “Quick, I’ve patched you through the emergency channel.”

“Scotty, we need the boost,” Jim calls, not allowing his voice to rise.

“Aye, you’ve got it, capt...”

The connection breaks off, but the indicators on the armrest don’t reflect any power surge.

“The helm is jammed, sir,” Sulu reports.

There is only one way: to activate the auxiliary control. From there it should be still possible to use the boost as well as to fix the main bridge functions. With the ship’s communication gone, the fastest way is to do it yourself. Spock glances at Jim—together it will be faster.

“Mr. Spock, you’re with me,” Jim says, heading to the Jefferies tube, since being stuck in the turbolift on the way is the last thing he wants. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. As soon as it works, get the ship out of here.”

“Aye, s—”

 

_“—ir... Aye, sir... Aye...”_

_Jim’s head is splitting as the bridge shrinks and disappears, replaced by the void which has no beginning and no end. He can’t see anything, it’s dark, cold, and all his senses scream in pain. Then suddenly he is pulled up from that deep hole back to life, back to warmth, Spock’s warmth..._

The next thing Jim knows is that convulsions are raking every muscle of his body, and he throws up. Spock’s strong arms are holding him as Spock’s vitality streams through the bond like a balm, soothing and supporting him. Jim breathes heavily; spots are swimming in front of his eyes, but gradually his vision regains focus. He’s still in the cave, and bile is bitter in his mouth. Spock looks scared, all his habitual stoicism tossed to the wind. Jim stirs and manages a weak smile to cheer him up. At last the fit passes.

“I need some air,” Jim croaks.

“Y-yes, yes, of course,” Spock stammers, lifts Jim carefully, and carries him outside, to the bank of the stream.

There Spock washes Jim’s face with the cool, clear water and has Jim drink from his palm. After a while Jim feels strong enough to sit up. Midday has turned into evening—the meld must have taken quite some time.

“Did we succeed?” Jim murmurs. _Did we get her out of there?_

“Insufficient data,” Spock replies in a subdued tone. “I saw as much as you did, and then the block pushed back.”

“But it worked, huh? We were able to see how it all began.”

“At what cost? I am much relieved that your neural pathways sustained no damage.”

“Good.” Jim nods, resolved. “Then we can do it again.”

“Out of the question,” Spock says harshly.

“We must get more memories.”

“The risk is too great.”

“Risk is our business. It’s my duty as the Captain.”

“As your First Officer, I respectfully object. Jeopardizing your well-being serves no purpose. We should continue searching for the clues on this atoll.”

“We’re already onto something, and we can’t waste time. The needs of the many, Spock.”

“Jim, don’t.”

“Shall I make it an order?” Jim hisses through his teeth.

“I shall not comply.” Spock’s eyes flash up angrily. “You can court-martial me later.”

“Remember we agreed that personal matters were not to interfere with our duties? It _is_ your duty, Commander,” Jim says in a level, cold tone.

They stare at each other, just like they did years ago, when the _Narada_ was on its crusade of senseless revenge, and they were to stop it.

“If you were a telepath, would you torture me for information?” Spock snaps suddenly, shaking. “You wouldn’t? Then how do you expect me to?”

He turns away and hides his face in his hands. The bond becomes forcibly muffled, only an echo of his agony seeping through. Jim opens and closes his mouth, appalled, and then channels into the bond all the regret he instantly feels and all apologies he can think of. He reaches out tentatively and touches Spock’s shoulder. Spock swallows hard, and when their eyes meet, his gaze is imploring.

“Alright, alright, it’s alright, baby.” Jim hugs him. “We’ll think of something else. I’m so sorry.”

“There are always possibilities,” Spock replies softly.

“Indeed there are,” says a voice of someone standing above them.

With a start they look up and jump to their feet. It’s a Human in his eighties, hale, stocky, round in the middle, with grey curly hair and shrewd hazel eyes. His clothes are nondescript, of a usual old man in retirement: a plaid red shirt, a knitted brown jacket, baggy khakis, and dusty shoes.

“Phew, I finally found you two.” The man beams at them. “Wasn’t an easy task, by the way.”

“Who the hell are you?” Jim blurts out, covering his private parts, while Spock drags him behind the nearest bush.

“Oh, believe me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” the man chuckles.

“Answer the question,” Spock demands, now that Jim’s and his own propriety is marginally restored.

“Okay.” The man shrugs. “I’m James T. Kirk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be grateful for any help to spread the word about this fic via [a gifset I made on tumblr](http://mightymads.tumblr.com/post/178319628544/a-beach-to-walk-on-a-wip-currently-5-chapters) :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to gift this fic to [WeirdLittleStories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdLittleStories/pseuds/WeirdLittleStories). Hope it’ll send you some positive energy. Also, it should be a good motivation to complete this WIP after all :)

“Har-har. Very funny,” Jim says, scowling at the man.

“You’re a touch-telepath, Spock. Come on, try me,” the man says and gestures at his psi-points.

“Spock, no,” Jim starts to protest, but Spock is already stretching out his hand.

“I shall attempt only a shallow meld. Don’t worry, Jim.”

With gnawing apprehension Jim can only stand by and watch as the faces of both assume that peculiar detached expression, characteristic for the state of introspection. The bond protects Jim’s mind from any intrusion, and Jim can’t perceive anything through it. He tries hard to curb his anxiety so that it didn’t distract and disturb Spock. The old man appears to be perfectly calm, as if he is accustomed to such kind of telepathic contact, which is rather unusual for a Human if he really is one.

Suddenly Spock gasps, and his eyes fly open, but he doesn’t break the meld.

“Jim, he is telling the truth,” Spock whispers. “He is... in a sense, he is you, like Ambassador Spock was me from another universe.”

“Ambassador Spock still is. Feel him,” the old man says, smiling kindly.

“You’re... bonded... he is... alive,” Spock almost chokes up and withdraws his hand from the man’s psi-points.

Jim hugs Spock who for a moment is overwhelmed with emotion. The old man gazes at them, his eyes soft and gentle.

“But—but you’re—he’s—how is it possible?” Jim stammers, staring at his counterpart.

“It’s a long story, better recounted in a safer place. First we must extract you,” the older Kirk replies. “Well, I guess you do need some clothes.”

He snaps his fingers, and the next instant Jim and Spock find themselves dressed: Spock is in a fashionable dark-blue Vulcan garments whereas Jim is in tattered jeans and a baggy T-shirt. There’s no need to hide in the bushes anymore, and they come a little closer to the old man.

“How do you do this?” Spock asks, touching the Vulcan robes which seem quite real.

“I know a bit about the way this place works,” Kirk says.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve handled various versions of it. Hmm, you’re looking good.”

“Hey, stop ogling my husband!” Jim exclaims indignantly.

“Ah, it’s purely aesthetic appreciation,” his older self drawls with a shit-eating grin. “Mine is waiting for me on the other side. Now let’s get out of here. Take my hands and hold on tight.”

They do, reluctantly, and at first nothing happens, but then the weather begins to worsen. Dark clouds gather in the sky which was pristine just a few seconds before, the wind rises, and the temperature drops abruptly. Soon they are in the midst of a raging storm: lightnings are blazing, icy rain pours in endless torrents, huge waves crash against the shore, threatening to swallow the tiny strip of land with the forest, the mountain, and everything.

“What’s going on?” Jim yells, his voice barely heard in the howling of the wind and hissing of the sea.

“This place—the Nexus—is not too happy,” Kirk yells back. “Whatever happens, don’t let go!”

Spock and Jim put their arms over Kirk’s shoulders and cling to him for dear life. The ground shakes under their feet, but as it collapses they stay suspended in the air. Kirk’s drenched face is scrunched up in extreme effort. Tremendous strain reverberates through the bond—Spock is obviously trying to help, his jaw set in concentration. The wind hits the three of them hard, and they almost lose each other’s grasp. Desperately, Jim clutches Spock’s arm and the older Kirk’s shoulder. Deafening thunder roars in the sky, followed by a another blinding flash—

It’s all over. No sounds, no light, emptiness. Jim’s mind is numb, as if his consciousness has separated from the body and now floats in the vacuum of space. The only thing that guides him is the bond, its strength unfailing. Everything is alright. He is not alone.

Little by little his senses return to him. Spock is still clutching his arm, and the older Kirk is squeezed between them. All three are soaking wet, standing on the platform which reminds a transporter pad. The room they’re in is bare and sealed off, like an airlock chamber.

“I love hugs, but you guys can release me,” the older Kirk grunts, extricating himself.

Jim and Spock share a smile and keep their arms linked. Warm air starts to blow from every direction, drying them off, and in a minute or so they are in a presentable state once again.

“Decontamination complete,” a mechanic voice announces.

The older Kirk heaves a sigh of relief. He is clearly fatigued. As he steps down from the pad, the sealed doors slide open, admitting the person Jim and Spock didn’t dream of ever seeing again. Ambassador Spock is in his customary slate-colored robes, and he doesn’t seem frail as he was when his health took a turn to worse. He is as hale as he used to be at the time of his arrival to this universe. Paying no heed of his young friends yet, he makes a beeline to Kirk.

“Are you unwell, Jim?” he asks with concern.

“I’m okay, just need a nap,” Kirk assures him, their fingers brushing in a quick _ozh’esta_. “You gave that pull just at the right moment, dear. Look who’s here.”

Ambassador Spock shifts his gaze to the platform and beams at his counterpart and Jim. Jim is overcome with joy, both his own, and his bondmate’s. He dashes towards the Ambassador and grabs his dear friend in a crushing bearhug, still not quite believing it’s not a dream.

“Gosh, it’s really you,” Jim breathes, feeling the low rumble of the Ambassador’s laughter.

“Stop harassing my husband,” the older Kirk chuckles.

Jim pulls back, a little giddy, while his bondmate comes up to them, his eyes shining, and reaches out for the Ambassador. The Vulcans press their hands together, palm to palm, and arrange their fingers in a _ta’al_ —a gesture of affection reserved for close family.

“I am... glad... that the news about you was erroneous,” the younger Spock murmurs.

“No, it was correct,” the Ambassador replies. “You have many questions, of course. We’ll explain everything duly.”

The older couple leads their counterparts into what appears to be both the bridge and the living quarters of the ship. There is a small control center, and one of the walls is entirely transparent, showing a magnificent view of space with a bright energy ribbon—the very same Jim saw in the fragments of Spock’s memories.

“This is the anomaly we encountered back then,” Jim gasps, pointing at it. “The Nexus you called it?”

“Yes,” Kirk says wearily. “We’re right on its margin which can be crudely compared with a black hole’s event horizon.”

“What is the Nexus?” Spock asks.

“It’s a region of space where matter and time work differently from the rest of the universe. It can also function as a gateway.”

“Like the Guardian of Forever?” Jim chimes in.

“Oh, you had a chance to get acquainted with it?”

“Yeah, and it couldn’t help to undo the damage done by Nero.”

“The Guardian has limitations. It—” Kirk snorts and looks pointedly at the Ambassador. “I’m not _divulging_ any critical information. Come on, their universe is already a mess, and they must have a clear picture so that together we could remedy it at least to some degree.”

“Jim, you should better lie down,” the Ambassador says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll make myself comfortable.”

Kirk trudges to the other side of the room which is a modest recreation section with a single sleeping module.

“I’m sorry, guys, but you’ll have to sleep on the couch.” Kirk waves at the sofa. “This good old girl _Gracie_ is tiny.”

He climbs into the sleeping area; the Ambassador perches beside him on the edge of the bed and covers him with a blanket. Somehow this simple gesture is so domestic and intimate that Jim and Spock feel a little awkward witnessing it as they seat themselves on the sofa.

“Well, roughly speaking, the Guardian can access only undamaged fabric of spacetime whereas the Nexus gives more opportunities. Out of the two, the Nexus is closer to a living being while the Guardian is more of a machine.”

“Why was the Nexus so intent on holding us prisoners? I could feel it during our escape,” Spock says, his brow furrowed.

“Your universe is weird. Nero’s meddling disrupted its natural development, and many things here go terribly wrong—wrong to the extent it will collapse if nothing is done. In any universe the Nexus thrives on energy of other living beings, their emotions, especially happiness. That’s why it tries to provide long and happy lives for its inhabitants. Usually they are unlikely to leave, but still can if they wish it. The Nexus in your universe put blocks inside your minds to keep you.”

Kirk yawns again and rubs his eyes, his eagerness to explain struggling with exhaustion.

“Rest, Jim,” the Ambassador says. “And I shall remove their blocks in the meantime.”

“Okay.” Kirk nods and closes his eyes.

The Ambassador caresses his cheek lightly and then turns to their younger counterparts.

“Shall we proceed now or would you like to rest as well first?”

Jim and Spock exchange looks. So much happened at a neck-breaking speed that it’s difficult to catch up and digest it. But they need to know the fate of the _Enterprise_ , even if the truth is bitter. Better that than being in the dark.

“We’d like to go ahead with it,” Jim answers as Spock takes his hand.

“Very well,” the Ambassador says, rises, and walks up to them.

“We attempted twice on our own,” Spock says.

“A desperate measure, albeit understandable.” The Ambassador hums thoughtfully. “It means that you both could be traumatized. I shall keep it in mind and be very careful. Should any adverse effects appear, we shall stop immediately.”

He places his hands on their faces, his long fingers pressing gently on their psi-points, and the next moment Jim senses his mental presence.

_It’s undoubtedly him, his wise and kind mind reaching out to Jim’s as it did years ago on Delta Vega. There was an underlying sadness in it at the time, but now there’s complete happiness, peace and contentment. Spock isn’t perturbed by the contact either. It’s fascinating: his counterpart and he have much in common, yet they are different, each unique in his own way. The Ambassador’s touch is skillful and delicate, and soon it pinpoints the blocks..._

They are running through the darkened corridors of the _Enterprise_ , taking the shortest route from the bridge to the Auxiliary Control. Every second counts during such emergencies, but Jim’s mind is clear: now he is focused solely on the task ahead, ready to everything possible and impossible to get his ship out of this plight. Besides, Spock is with him, radiating steadfast support, and together they should pull through. They always do.

Lieutenants DeSalle and M’Ress are on duty at the Auxiliary Control, trying to reboot the system. DeSalle’s forehead is glistening with sweat as his hands fly over the consoles. M’Ress hisses in frustration, flickering her tail back and forth, when the computer refuses to comply with her command.

“DeSalle, M’Ress, to the Engineering,” Jim orders. “Mr. Scott needs reinforcement.”

“Aye, sir,” they reply in unison and are off to help Scotty.

There is a way to force rebooting which is not exactly regulation-approved and obviously not mentioned in the manuals. The thought zings through the bond, and Spock concedes: it’s against the rules, but it could work. Jim gets under the helm station to reconnect the switches manually while Spock starts to enter the subroutine into the computer. The bulkheads groan under the strain—the pull of the energy ribbon gets stronger and stronger. In mere minutes the ship will be torn apart. Jim presses the last switch into place, and Spock pushes the warp drive lever up to the maximum.

The whole ship gives a violent jerk, and slowly, reluctantly, it budges, obeying the helm. At last! The speed grows as the _Enterprise_ gets further and further away from the ribbon which is dwindling on the viewscreen.

“Computer, synchronize controls with the bridge,” Spock says in a clear, cool voice, as if there’s nothing out of ordinary at all.

“Acknowledged.”

Communications come back online, and Jim is about to call Sulu when a huge arch surges up from the depth of the energy ribbon and lashes out like an immense whip. The impact is instantaneous; it’s so strong that the hull is shattered to smithereens. Instinctively, Jim and Spock grab each other as they are knocked off their feet by the blast wave. For a few fractions of a second they float in microgravity, and then they are sucked out into open space with debris, dust, and air. There’s no time to process, to realize that this is the end. Light is everywhere, as far as the eye can see. It devours them, but it doesn’t hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-graphic torture

Jim comes to his senses as if after a relaxing nap. Birds are chirping and trees are rustling; there are voices of adults and children playing in the distance. He is reclined in a deckchair, and so his gaze is directed upwards. Far off overhead, the level of the business district is looming, and beyond it the translucent barrier is glistening in the sun. This place is none other than Yorktown, and he is in one of its parks.

A baby whimpers right next to him. Spock is in the chair by Jim’s side, and a little girl—about one year old—is sitting in his lap, a displeased grimace on her chubby face. She has dark hair and blue eyes, and her tiny ears are slightly pointed. Spock wakes up with a start, his arms tightening around her protectively. He stares at her, and then at Jim in confusion.

“I believe this is our daughter,” he mumbles. “She is hungry.”

Jim stares back at them helplessly. Something prods him in the elbow. It’s a bottle of baby formula, and Jim hands it to Spock in autopilot mode. As soon as Spock starts feeding the girl, she calms down.

“This _is_ our daughter,” Jim agrees, simply knowing it as well. “Do you have a familial bond with her?”

“Yes,” Spock says, his brow furrowed. “In fact, I have two.”

A boy about five, dark-haired and dark-eyed, runs up to Jim.

“Dad, help! Our kite got stuck in the tree!”

The boy obviously takes more after Spock, but he has freckles as Jim used to have at that age, and his nose is upturned—an exact small replica of Jim’s. Jim follows the boy to a large Rigelian acacia, where a flock of children chatter, pointing at a colorful kite between the branches. Thankfully, it’s too high, and no one from the group attempted to climb the tree to retrieve the kite. Jim borrows a hover frisbee from a Tellarite girl and with a well-aimed throw dislodges the kite. It falls to the ground, just as the frisbee returns to the girl. The children yell happily and dash off, flying the kite again, Jim and Spock’s son among them.

“It’s good to see him accepted by his peers and enjoying himself,” Jim says to Spock, who is coming up to him, their daughter in his arms.

“The population of Yorktown is diverse,” Spock replies.

“This is what we wanted, isn’t it?” Jim brushes away a stray lock from the little girl’s forehead.

“But these bonds are not real.” Spock sighs. “It’s how I imagined them to be. If we had children, you would be linked with them too.”

The surroundings change as they walk. The lush greenery of the park morphs into a garden with various desert plants and beautiful stone structures which are arranged with taste. There’s a magnificent mansion in the middle of the garden, a familiar place, although Jim has never been here. A mixture of profound happiness and sadness flow through the bond, and Spock pales a little when a petite woman in traditional Vulcan garments approaches them. How many times Jim wished he could meet her in person.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for you.” Amanda beams at them. “Come, you must be fatigued by the journey. I’ll pour you some iced tea.”

She takes the little girl from Spock and heads to the house, cooing endearments to her granddaughter. Spock doesn’t move. He just gazes after her, shaken.

“This is too cruel,” Jim hisses through his teeth. “Wherever we are, our minds are being tempered with!”

“I sense no sense no sentient presence,” Spock murmurs with his eyes closed. “Yet somehow our innermost wishes are being accessed and played out. The process is not unlike a powerful suggestion. We must fight it, Jim.”

“How?”

“Focus on what was real to us before we got here.” The _Enterprise_.

Jim summons in his mind memories of their ship and crew, as well as the most recent events while Spock struggles to deflect visions of one happy dream after another which flash faster and faster until it starts to cause excruciating pain. Spock’s face is anguished; the bond is white hot from tension, but both he and Jim are resolved not to yield to the pressure. They scream as their memories are torn from them. The shock is so great that it’s impossible to bear it, to stay conscious, and then there’s nothing, only a black abyss.

_Suddenly Jim is aware that there is no danger, and that both Spock and he are safe. The elder Spock’s soothing touch guides them out of this traumatic experience, helping them to look at it from a distance. That’s what was hidden behind the blocks, and now their minds are free again. The deep trance dissipates gradually; it’s such a relief, like recovering from a long illness._

The Ambassador lowers his hands, gazing at Jim and Spock with warmth and compassion.

“ _Cha’i t’naat_ ,” Spock whispers. 

“ _Dan-neruk_ ,” the Ambassador replies softly and takes a sit in the armchair beside the sofa. 

“You’re a miracle worker, Spock,” Jim says, smiling gratefully at him.

“I believe the title belongs to Mr. Scott,” the Ambassador chuckles.

“Fascinating,” Spock says. “The Nexus imprisoned us in our own private Garden of Eden, with a challenge and mystery to keep us occupied.”

“Well, even brainwashed we didn’t need paradise. Maybe we’re not meant for it.” Jim shakes his head. “Yet we still don’t know what happened to our ship, whether she got out.”

“She did. Since we are on the margin of the Nexus, we are out of the regular flow of time. However, it is possible to see how the events unfolded without you.” The Ambassador sighs and taps on the surface of the coffee table in front of them. Holo newsfeeds appear in the air.

Cold shiver runs down Jim’s spine as he reads them, and he can feel through the bond that Spock is profoundly appalled.

“STARDATE 2263.9. CAPTAIN KIRK AND COMMANDER SPOCK KILLED IN LINE OF DUTY. CREW PAYS RESPECTS TO LEGENDARY STARFLEET COUPLE.”

There’s a footage of the memorial service held on the _Enterprise-A_. “Amazing Grace” playing, many don’t hold back tears. Uhura’s voice is trembling as she gives the eulogy; Chekhov is sobbing, Sulu and Scotty trying to comfort him while sniffling themselves. Bones is terrible to look at, so pale and grief-stricken he is.

“STARDATE 2264.1. PLAGUE FROM NEW PARIS COLONIES OUT OF CONTROL. KLINGON EMPIRE DEEMS IT FEDERATION BIOLOGICAL WEAPON.”

Images of dying planets, poverty, and violence against refugees which is barely restrained by the Federation forces. Klingons declaring a war and not taking hostages as they wipe out entire populations of afflicted colonies and starbases.

“STARDATE 2267.5. STARFLEET FLAGSHIP ENTERPRISE PERISHED IN BATTLE OF ORGANIA. NO SURVIVORS.”

Attached is the last visual communication with Captain Sulu telling other ships to leave while the _Enterprise_ covers them.

“STARDATE 2275.3. ANDORIAN AND TELLARITE STAR SYSTEMS ANNIHILATED BY UNIDENTIFIED SPACE ANOMALIES WHICH SPREAD ACROSS ALPHA QUADRANT.”

Star charts open, with entire star systems black, devoid of life. At that point the Federation ceased to exist, having lost all of its founding members, and the remaining scattered population flees from the increasing areas of darkness.

“STARDATE 2280.7. NEW EARTH UNDER ATTACK OF ALIEN PARASITES.”

Logs from the last Human colony report mass insanity and hysteria. It is prohibited to approach it, so its people are abandoned to their fate, with no hope for help.

“My god, enough.” Jim switches off the newsfeeds, his head splitting.

“Everything went to the dogs, yeah, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg,” his counterpart says, rising from the bed.

The older Kirk comes up and taps another panel on the coffee table. A plate with sandwiches and a Vulcan tea set materialize.

“It makes palatable coffee, but _Kh’aa tea_? Of course not.”

The Ambassador brings a jar of spice tea. As he brews it, a calming scent fills the room.

“I believe there is a pattern in the chain of these disasters,” Spock says, receiving a steaming cup with a grateful nod.

“You’re right, there is,” Kirk replies. “It is generally known that all matter in a given universe has the same quantum signature, the basic foundation of existence. Science of your time hasn’t discovered yet that elements with a different signature cause a dissonance by their mere presence; that’s why matter from one universe must not contaminate another. Otherwise it leads to catastrophic consequences which can be compared to onset of a disease when foreign bodies invade an organism. Nero’s arrival to your universe was exactly that.”

“So our universe is ill,” Jim mutters under his breath.

“In plain terms, yes. Each particle that he brought with him is a source of infection. You mostly took care of that by getting rid of the _Narada_ after you blew it up. But one more foreign element was left behind.”

“I,” the Ambassador says.

“I’m afraid that even your remains polluted this universe, dear,” Kirk replies fondly.

“Are you suggesting that we should have disposed of my counterpart by means of a black hole?” Spock raises his eyebrow.

“No, I’ll do it for you,” Kirk says. “I can take him home safely. Our universes are now linked by a quantum fissure created by the arrival of the _Narada_. Thanks to it I can finally find the way back to where we both belong.”

“What’s the catch then?” Jim asks.

“For Spock and me, none.” Kirk shrugs his shoulders. “However, it would be wrong to leave your timeline irrevocably damaged. Some changes cannot be undone already, like the _Kelvin_ encountering the _Narada_ , because of the quantum fissure which left a permanent rift at that point of spacetime. These changes don’t affect the general direction of the timeflow, as the fissure itself poses no threat. The destruction of Vulcan does. If we fix it, the original order of your universe will be restored.”

“Wait, what? It can be accomplished after all?” Jim stares at his counterpart.

“The calculations will be very delicate, though.”

“You knew?” Spock turns to the Ambassador sharply.

“No.” The Ambassador shakes his head. “Only Jim knows and has the ability.”

“How did you come by it? Are you Human still?” Jim demands from the older Kirk.

“You’ve got me there.” Kirk says, as if conceding defeat in a chess match. “Well, I am, but not quite. Spock and I promised to explain everything. I guess I should start from the beginning—from the day I died, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cha’i t’naat – Thank you. (lit. ‘sentiment of respect’)  
> Dan-neruk – Most humbly. (meaning, “I humbly accept your recognition.”) /korsaya.org./


End file.
